


Color Me Aggravated

by impureimpulse



Category: Caduceus | Trauma Center Series
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:42:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impureimpulse/pseuds/impureimpulse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor deals with varying levels of immaturity in the workplace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Color Me Aggravated

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for a misplaced comment on the Trauma Center Kink Meme. The original comment read:
> 
> "Hell, I want him to be /my/ housewife.
> 
> <3\. 
> 
> Can I have them both?  
> I don't think Victor could pull off an apron though."
> 
> I disagreed.

The Caduceus labs were run with a few basic principles in mind. 

Cleanliness, order, and a scrupulous eye to detail. 

The equipment in this facility was some of the best (and most expensive) in the world, and everything sparkled. Stains, dirt, dust, and even fingerprints weren’t tolerated.

And if it didn't, there was hell to pay. Victor Niguel took his position, and his labs, more seriously than most people took their marriage vows, and for good reason. The Science that happened here was among the most groundbreaking. The procedures developed from these tests saved countless lives. The procedures and policies manual for these areas filled a shelf of binders, and would take a week to read comprehensively. 

Victor hated mess, and took measures to stop it. Almost as much as he hated ignorance.

Which was why every time he made the mistake of venturing up into the rest of the medical center to get a cup of coffee, in the middle of a slide specimen rotation shift, he always, _always_ regretted it. Gram staining took time, but he needed microscope specimens he could _see_ , and he'd learned long ago that if he wanted anything done right, he'd be getting a nice chunk of overtime come payday. Overtime which meant long hours, and eye strain that would have him blind by thirty, but at least it _got done_.

(Goddamn coffee, always did him in; but living without the black caffeinated lifeblood of the PM and graveyard shifts was even more unthinkable than braving the rest of those morons for five minutes to get it.)

Kasal was always the first. 

"Hey Victor. You look different. New haircut?" 

A withering glare was reserved for him, but he let it go, usually. He only had fifteen minutes. 

If he was particularly unlucky, and he had been today, Thompson was next. Or Sears. Or given his recent streak, both at once. 

"Oh, that's so neat, doctor Niguel... Where did you get it?"

"It's cute. Do they make it with a print?" 

They were women. Women were notorious for that crap, so he let it go with a mostly surly 'whatever', and usually they'd laugh and roll their eyes, and leave him be. 

Chase was always last, which was no surprise by now. The blond man was every bit as irritating as Angie and Leslie combined, and he couldn't pull rank to make him leave him alone.

"Hey, Victor! Lookin' good, man. See, you should go without the black and white more often, you'll get chicks talking to you more often." 

Telling him to 'die in a fire' or 'go to hell' usually worked, and this time was no exception. His back turned to the rest of the room, Victor stirred his coffee (black, no sugar, one packet of false-sweet eminent cancer), and sighed quietly. His patience was long gone, but his social interactions with the rest of these mouth-breathers was nearly over, and he could return to his work soon. 

Of course, Stiles chose _right then_ to return to the station for another packet of creamer, and open his idiot mouth.

“Oh, hi Victor. I never see you up here. …That lab apron’s something else. Didn’t know you liked pink so much.”

It had been satisfying, Victor reflected later, to see Derek at a total loss for once. Like he really hadn’t expected the coffee that was summarily dumped over his head. Sidney would write him up for it later, and have a lengthy conference with him about his temper, teamwork, and respecting his coworkers, and would pepper it with long-suffering sighs. But stalking back down the stairwell, coffee-less but in a considerably better mood, it was worth it, he decided. He didn’t owe any of them explanations, anyway. Idiots. 

Fuchsin stain rinse was a bitch to get out of white, after all.


End file.
